


Negotiations

by elesary



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Andrew minyard is good with kids, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bodyguard Andrew Minyard, Butcher Neil Josten, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possessive Andrew Minyard, Protective Andrew Minyard, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesary/pseuds/elesary
Summary: This is what Andrew Minyard knows: his brother is dead, killed by a petty Raven prince who has never learned to keep his hands off of Andrew's things. His brother's daughters are his responsibility, a job that is made infinitely harder when their shitty grandparents want custody. Nathaniel Wesninski is a liar, but he might be the only way to avenge Aaron and protect his nieces. All Andrew has to do is watch Nathaniels - Neil's- back as he carves out his own life and identity from everyone who thinks they own him.Andrew has always been good at upholding his end of the bargain, has he finally found someone willing to uphold theirs?
Relationships: Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 102





	1. A Series of Unfortunate Events

1: A series of unfortunate events

Kevin, coward that he is, doesn’t even have the balls to tell Andrew in person. Instead, he leaves a final check on the kitchen table and calls him from outside The Nest. “He offered me a job,” Kevin implores, as if Andrew is convincible. “He said it’ll be different now, that I need to come home.” Kevin’s voice is aching, or maybe that’s Andrew’s chest tightening in rage and disgust and worst of all, disappointment. 

Andrew says nothing, phone creaking in his grip, so Kevin keeps talking. “No one else will hire me, and you said it yourself, I can’t make you  _ care _ about anything, so-” there’s a shaky, bitten off laugh that makes Andrew’s disgust grow even further “-this is better.” Kevin is a liar and an idiot and Andrew would have protected him anyway, if he had bothered to stay. Wymack would have hired him, Kevin wouldn’t even have had to tell him he was his father, but Kevin was too cowardly for that too. 

Andrew should not be surprised by this betrayal.  _ What’s another broken deal? _ “Andrew?” Kevin’s voice turns wheedeling and Andrew sneers. Oh how quickly Kevin turns himself back into a lapdog when Riko holds out a leash. “There’s still a job here for you -” Andrew throws the phone hard enough that it explodes into a pile of glass shards and twisted plastic and digs a chunk of paint and plaster out of the wall, leaving Andrew panting and  _ furious _ in his dark living room. 

For one second-  _ one second- _ Andrew considers climbing into his GS and speeding north to West Virginia and dragging Kevin back out, beating Riko to death for his trouble but. But. Free will and all that. Kevin made his  _ stupid, cowardly _ choice and Andrew is all about choices. And anyway. The apathy is back, creeping soothing cold under his skin, smoothing out all his wrinkles and wrapping him back into a familiar fog. 

-

The next day, Andrew wonders what, if anything, he should tell Wymack between bites of his cinnamon-raisin bagel smeared liberally with strawberry cream cheese. He finishes his breakfast, half assedly throws his blankets up towards his punched-in pillow and kicks a few pairs of black boots away from the door on his way out of his shitty apartment. Palmetto is warm and sticky even in October, only the nights cool down enough for Andrew’s wardrobe to be appropriate, but it takes a mere fraction of his self control to pretend that the heat has any impact on his internal temperature despite his black jeans, steel-toed boots and thick black armbands that cover most of the skin bared by his black t-shirt. 

In the end, he decides on a two weeks notice, and he ignores the faintest ripple of regret at the quiet exhaustion on Wymack’s face when he accepts it. Wymack should be used to it, by now, how many kids have returned to the vices he provided sanctuary against? The others, like Dan and Matt and Renee  _ and Aaron and Nicky _ must be too few and far between to provide much solace. But Wymack is a fool, and it will probably drive him to an early grave. Andrew wonders which category Wymack has sorted him into? Is he one of the few successes? All his scars are old now and he’s stable enough these days, no longer dragged around by fishhook smiles and a dizzyingly low attention span. Or is he a failure? Not dead but not really living either. He’s just… there. And in two weeks, he’ll be gone. 

“You could stay.” Wymack makes it a statement, “Your place here is not contingent on Kev- on that  _ idiot _ .” His voice breaks there at the end. And Andrew knows. He was here before Kevin stumbled in two years ago, reeking of blood and booze and it was his failure that sent him back to his abuser, not Andrew’s. But being there’s too much in this old sprawling house that reminds Andrew of  _ things _ and he’s never needed mementos with a memory like his. Too many familiar faces that he can trust not to stab him if he shows them his back, even if he doesn’t particularly like them, or they him. Too many mirrors that make him think his brother is coming down that hall toward him. Too many broken kids being slowly put back together. 

Bee was proud when he took the job. Both jobs, actually, protecting Kevin and dragging him back to the Foxhole to help protect other kids like him, broken by parents and foster parents and a system designed purely to fuck them up. But Bee’s heart attack abruptly stopped any pride she may have felt almost two years ago. Her last tin of hot chocolate still sits, forgotten by everyone but him, in the back of the battered drink drawer, a reminder too bitter for his sweet tooth. He makes a mug anyway, a different blend that Renee mixes herself. It’s rich and sweet with a sharp kick of spice after he swallows, not unlike Renee herself. Every time he takes a sip, his eyes catch on the bee tattooed on his thumb, right between his nail and the knuckle.

Most of the kids are at school by now, but there are always a handful who are around, for one reason or another. And, as if on cue, Jack and Sheena clatter into the room, spewing their regular toxic bullshit and knocking over the fruit bowl. Andrew, usually a fan of causing mayhem, doesn’t make them clean it up. Maybe that’s why they occasionally listen to him when he does call them on his shit. That or the fact that he once almost broke each of Jack’s fingers when he caught them where they didn’t belong. Fear is a powerful tool, when wielded correctly. Andrew is very good with weapons.

“So where’s the cripple then?” Jack sneers, when his antics with the fruit fail to get the reaction he’s looking for.

“Who?” Andrew replies, because Kevin is dead to him, and it’s useless to speak of dead men. 

“Uh,” Jack doesn’t quite know what to make of that, so he spits out a few half-hearted insults that Andrew ignores and starts digging around in the bread basket to make toast. Andrew finishes his hot chocolate and sticks the mug into the dishwasher.

“Clean the fruit, ingrate.” reminds as he leaves the room, not caring enough to see if Jack obeys. Andrew, usually apathetic, but less so in this house, with these people, is too empty to make an effort today. But he still can’t bring himself to completely fuck off for the next two weeks, he owes more than that to the few people in his entire life who’ve done right by him. 

He finds his two favorite people in the whole house crafting in the living room. Renee and Robin are sitting on the floor, backs to the couch as they carefully work on a diorama of a Roman Coliseum. Robin is cutting out vaguely roman-shaped pieces of paper for the audience under Renee’s careful supervision while the sand and glue mixture dries on the bottom of the shoebox. A plastic lion, hippo, and several warrior figurines are carefully lined up along the edge of the table. “Andrew,” Renee smiles in welcome, warm as always. Robin grins up at him a bit impishly, and Andrew is… not displeased by the reaction of the normally skittish teenager. It has taken him a long time for her to trust that he would never harm or threaten her. 

Andrew catches Renee’s eyes and she nods a few seconds later, lips pursed. They will spar when Jeremy and Allison arrive to relieve them. She is no Bee, but Renee’s the only friend he has.

-

The two weeks pass, along with the remainder of Andrew’s patience, which finally expires when he turns on the TV and sees Kevin, wan and cringing, at Riko’s side at some ribbon cutting ceremony for a new Moriyama building. Andrew puts his fist through Riko’s smug face and only gets a sliced up hand and no satisfaction. He dumps the broken TV and all his furniture on the curb and shoves one suitcase and several boxes of books into his GS and drives two hours to Columbia, and the vacant, abandoned house. 

He doesn’t tell Aaron, exhausted in Chicago, because Andrew is dead to him, and Aaron doesn't talk to dead men. He doesn’t tell Nicky, who calls him every Sunday from his husband's arms in Germany, no matter how often Andrew rejects his calls. Andrew stocks the freezer with ice cream and the fridge with takeout. He goes to Eden’s and blows Roland in the back room; a week later, one of the bartenders quits, and Andrew gets his job. 

Occasionally, he will meet Renee on his day off and she will hand him his ass, and then buy him coffee. Eventually, he starts winning occasionally, and then more often. She still buys him coffee. 

The air cools, Andrew ignores Nicky’s invitation to spend Christmas in Germany, he doesn’t hear from Aaron at all. The air warms, Nicky and Erik show up on the doorstep. They are loud, Nicky is concerned, and then they are gone. The air cools, Roland gets a boyfriend, Andrew stops blowing him in the back room and doesn’t bother to find a replacement. Kevin shows up on the television every once in a while, always a step behind Riko, his hands shake constantly, but his media smile never falters. Renee says he has stopped taking Wymack’s calls. Andrew does not care. 

Andrew (and Aaron) turn twenty-five. Andrew rejects five straight calls with a Chicago area code. Nicky is sobbing too hard to talk when Andrew answers his call, so Erik has to tell him.  _ Hit and run… brain dead... Twin girls, eight months old… Funeral… catching the next flight… _ Andrew is frozen behind a wall of ice. There is nothing, nothing, nothing. 

There are two baby girls, there is a reason that the cheerleaders parents ranked below the dangerous twin Aaron no longer talked to. There is a flight to Chicago that Andrew needs to be on.  _ They were leaving the restaurant… _ Andrew lands at O’Hare two hours later than he’s supposed to, so his rental car has been given away. The only other one available is a minivan, rust-brown, like dried blood.  _ The car came out of nowhere, just hopped the curb…  _ Andrew does not complain. Andrew breaks every speed limit on the way Northwestern Memorial Hospital.  _ Aaron was run over, Kaitlin pinned to the side of the building…  _ Andrew speaks his first words since Erik and Nicky hung up to the nurse at the desk in the ICU. “Aaron Minyard.”  _ They left us their daughters. I- I didn’t even know they had kids. Did you know? Andrew? _

Aaron has always been a small man, in Andrew’s opinion. Small of stature, small of mind. He has never looked so tiny as he looks in the hospital bed, pale and bruised and unresponsive, a corpse given CPR by a machine. The salvageable organs have already been harvested, given away like candy at Halloween, replaced by cotton so the absence isn’t visible to the naked eye. Andrew’s eyes burn, but it's only because not even his eidetic memory remembers how to blink.  _ No one saw the driver flee the scene. _

Andrew sits and stares. The shadows chase the sun across the room until it is dark. A man with a briefcase comes in. His mouth forms words that Andrew does not hear. An envelope with his name, written in familiar handwriting appears in his hand. The man with the briefcase disappears. The electric lights hum. A nurse comes in, Andrew’s body tenses as she approaches the man in the bed, but there is nothing left to protect, and even if there was, Aaron made it quite clear how little he wanted Andrew’s protection.  _ Another broken promise. _

Nicky stumbles into the room, sees the man in the bed, moans and collapses into the arms of the blond german beside him. Andrew looks at them. Andrew looks away. The envelope in his hand has Nicky’s name on it, too. 

Andrew let’s Nicky hug him when his cousin stumbles towards him. He is too tired and too empty and too far away and even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy Nicky’s presence, he is not a threat. So he tolerates for a few long moments before shoving him back at his husband, who trades him a styrofoam cup filled with artificially sweet coffee. It’s the first thing he’s put in his mouth that he can remember, and his stomach clenches around it. 

When the cup is empty and the styrofoam has been systematically destroyed between his fingers and dropped carelessly to the floor, a tired doctor enters the room with a sheaf of paper work that Nicky takes one look at before it sends him into a fit. He sobs until he gags and Erik has to carry him over to the uncomfortable chair and fold himself around him. Andrew finds himself across the room, tugging the clipboard from the doctors hand. She looks around a bit helplessly, mumbles her condolences and how much Aaron and the cheerleader will be missed and how she will be right outside the door “when he’s ready”. This is the hospital they worked at, Andrew remembers absently, looking over the paperwork he’ll have to sign before he can turn his twin off. He was so proud to get the residency he hadn’t even hung up the phone when Nicky patched Andrew in to the call. It’s almost funny, that they’re all here now, for this. 

Andrew can’t tear his eyes away from the shape on the bed. It's not Aaron anymore, just a vegetable, but he still can’t look away. Andrew doesn’t look at dead men, Andrew doesn’t look at dead men,  _ Andrew doesn’t look at- _

Andrew’s hand is steady when he signs the papers. He breathes easily as the body-that-used-to-be-Aaron slowly suffocates in the booming silence of the small room, devoid of machines and hysterical cousins. It’s peaceful, almost. 

Andrew blinks, and Erik and Nicky get in the back of the ugly mini-van, murmuring about “the girls” and “social workers” and “selling the house”. Andrew blinks and he’s in front of a brownstone. The mailbox says “Minyard”, and there are two tiny handprints in purple and green pressed below it. Andrew blinks and there’s a tired, dumpy looking woman talking to them, holding a stuffed bunny and a cup of coffee in a mug that says PSU VIXENS in lurid orange. Andrew blinks, and he’s in a bedroom that has musty sheets and an ugly landscape next to the closet. 

Andrew blinks, and it's morning. He almost lets him drift back into the apathy that has taken over his life little by little over the past few years and then swallowed him whole after Kevin’s betrayal, but everything that he heard or saw and ignored the past two days has fallen into place and he can no longer pretend it doesn’t concern him. This is what he knows: on Aaron Minyard’s twenty-fifth birthday, his wife of two years took him out to dinner. On their way out of the restaurant, they were hit by a drunk driver and they both died. In their will, they stipulated that  _ in the unlikely event that they both were killed,  _ custody of their twin daughters, aged eight months, would go to their uncle, Andrew Minyard, and his cousin (and husband) Nicky and Erik Klose.  _ Under no circumstances, _ were the mothers parents to be considered guardians. 

This is what Andrew knows: On the day of their birth, instead of informing either his twin or his cousin of his expanding family, Aaron Minyard updated his will and wrote them a letter. The letter was short and to the point and made Andrew feel like his heart was beating broken glass and not blood;  _ because Andrew will keep them safe and Nicky will keep them happy.  _ It’s a promise Andrew didn’t realize he had made, to the one person he would never make a promise to again. 

This is what Andrew knows: Aaron and Kaitlyn Minyard named their only children, identical twin girls:  _ Andrea and Nicole Minyard.  _ This is what Andrew knows: his twin is dead, there are two little girls downstairs that are  _ his _ now, and that the grandparents who  _ under no circumstances were to get custody _ are already making moves to  _ take them away. _

This is what Andrew knows: he has always been at his best when he has a purpose. Now he has two. He showers and gets dressed, and then he goes down stairs. 

He’s just in time too, because there is milk dripping off the table, and all over the two tiny blondes and Nicky. All three of them are crying. “I don’t know what you want!” Nicky sobs, one hand holding a half-filled bottle while he frantically pushes the spilled milk around with a paper towel. One of the squalling babies, straining against the straps that keep her in the baby seat/ bassinet, smacks the bottle away with an angry fist. Nicky swears as drops of milk spray him in the face, voice and eyes broken.

“Go take a shower.” Andrew orders brusquely, throwing a towel over his shoulder and kicking his cousin out of the kitchen. He finds a box of pacifiers and pushes one into each of their mouths. Their screams turn to hiccups and gurgles immediately. One crisis dealt with, Andrew turns the coffee machine on and uses the towel to mop up the worst of the mess across the table and floor and the girls. Once he has a mug of sweet coffee in his hands, he eyes the babies critically. They are trying to smack each other in the face, but their seats are far enough apart that the worst they can do is yank out their own pacifiers, but they aren’t screaming the grating screams that make adults lose their minds, so Andrew doesn’t worry about it. 

Andrew has lived in too many foster homes to not be good with kids. But being outnumbered by infants is always dangerous. He needs to get them in new diapers and clean clothes, and then down for a nap if he can manage it, but he’s unfamiliar with them and the house and doesn’t dare to leave one of them alone while he takes care of the other. 

The front door slams and a shirtless and sweaty Erik saunters in with a bag that smells like bagels and solves Andrew’s problem. He lifts up one of the babies and shoves her at Erik, who fumbles the bagels and swears quietly in German until she settles in his arms. The other baby reaches for Andrew as he lifts her into the crook of his arm. She babbles, tiny, sticky hands grasping at his jaw, and the staticy apathy rises again. Andrew forcefully pushes it down, because he is somehow the most capable adult in this house and there is shit that must be done. 

Erik follows him up the stairs and opens one of the doors, revealing a nursery, decked out in purple and green. It is hideous, but scattered with all the details that none of his foster homes had had. The kids who live in this room are  _ loved _ . Andrew’s only had one room that came anywhere close to this, and it came at far too high a cost. “You do know how to change a diaper, don’t you?” Andrew asks in German, laying the infant on the changing table and expertly demonstrating despite the wriggling. The soiled diaper goes in the conveniently located bin and the crusty onesie in the hamper. Nicky will have to do laundry later. 

Andrew places the child on the floor as she continues to fuss, and she happily rolls herself onto her belly and gnaws on her fist. He watches  _ carefully _ as Erik changes the other girl, alert to any possibility of darkness in the other man's eyes as he undresses her. He finds nothing, just warmth and care and patience. Erik’s large hands are gentle. Andrew hadn’t really expected to find anything else, but he wasn’t raised to be trusting of large men around naked children. 

“You are good at this.” Erik muses, bouncing the gurgling child to pull her leggings all the way back up. 

Andrew ignores that bit of inanity. “You are sweating all over that child.” he says rudely, and Erik grins good naturedly and wanders off to shower. 

Andrew turns back and looks at the girls. “Nicole?” he calls, and one of them looks over at him. The other one is chewing the ear off of a rabbit. He lifts up Nicole and examines her until he has memorised enough of her tics and babbles and smile that he can tell her apart from her identical twin, who he can’t yet bring himself to name. 

Within five minutes, play time has turned into a tantrum and Andrew is hungry. He turns on the white noise machine and swaddles the girls one at a time. Their cribs are helpfully differentiated with personalized blankets, Nicole’s is purple and…  _ Andrea’s _ is green. He turns off the light and retreats to the armchair in the corner, knowing better than to respond to their cries as they settle, but unable to just leave them screaming in a room. 

Some time later, after the screams fade to hiccups and then to tiny little snuffles and snores, Andrew creeps out of the room and back to the kitchen. Nicky is there, uncharacteristically dressed in sweatpants, pale but composed. He is wrapped around a mug of coffee, leaning into Erik’s side as they examine the stacks of papers in front of them. “There are bagels,” Nicky offers, attempting a wobbling smile. Andrew places the baby monitor on the table and grabs a cinnamon bagel that he eats plain, tearing it into tiny pieces and systematically consuming them. 

“We have a lot to discuss,” Andrew says, sitting down with his own coffee. Nicky’s eyes are determined as he squeezes Erik’s hand. “Let’s get started.”

-

The funeral takes place one week later, and all the kids who were with Aaron and Andrew when they were with Wymack show up (They call themselves the Foxes, but Andrew likes to think he has more dignity than that). Renee is still the only one he can stand, and he curls his lip at Dan Wilds and Matt Boyd when they try to talk to him. Allison Reynolds and Seth Gordon don’t even try, which is something to be grateful for at least. Nicky, on the other hand, is happy to see them, pulled into a group hug that swallows him whole. 

Sometimes Andrew forgets that the Foxhole was home for his cousin, too. 

Andrew doesn’t want to stay for the funeral. He wants to drink an entire bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and then have Renee beat the shit out of him, or maybe beat the shit out of her. But. But the Foxes aren’t the only people who show up. Oh no, they are not. An older couple who remind him uncomfortably of Richard and Cass Spear enter the cemetery and walk right up to Andrew and Nicky, reaching out to take the girls. 

“No.” Andrew says, stopping Nicky cold before he can hand over Nicole. Wymack and Renee drift over and stand, casually, at Andrew’s back. 

“Excuse me?” the man says, frowning as he reaches for Nicole once again. This time, Nicky steps back, just slightly behind Erik, who puts his size to full use. Andrew doesn’t repeat himself. He hands Andrea to Wymack and steps forward. “Give us our grandchildren!”

Andrew stares at the man. He doesn’t know him, maybe he would, if he had shown up to Aaron’s wedding, but he hadn’t even been invited.  _ Under no circumstances _ . “No.” he says again. This is what Andrew is good at. He can be a shield. Aaron would not have given his children to Andrew if they didn’t need protection. He will not allow anyone he does not trust to touch them. Aaron has told Andrew not to trust the cheerleaders parents, and that is more than good enough for him. “You will not touch them.”

The cheerleader's father is taller than Andrew, most men are, and like most men, he seems to think that being taller gives him some sort of advantage over Andrew. Like most men, he is wrong. Andrew meets his step forward with one of his own, hand flying to his wristband, eyes dead on the older man’s. Andrew has said no three times already, he will not say it again. Behind him, Nicky makes a conciliatory, fluttery sound and Andrew has to remind himself how instantly his cousin had reacted to Andrew’s first “ _ no” _ . Behind him, Renee calls Allison’s name, and the blond saunters over. 

Andrew doesn’t particularly respect lawyers, but he isn’t exactly angry when Allison pleasantly reminds the couple that, while rude, Andrew has guardianship of the girls, and that it would be legally  _ unwise,  _ not to mention  _ gauch,  _ to push the issue at their daughter’s funeral. Allison’s smile is painted blood red, to match her long nails. 

The wife pulls her husband away from Andrew with a nasty glare, which is a good decision if she doesn’t want to bury another family member. “You will see them in court,” Allison comments as they watch the couple pause at their daughters' new gravestone. Allison reaches out one of those bloody talons to touch his arm, then withdraws it, which is a good decision if she doesn’t want a broken finger or five. Renee likes her, or he would take her hand off at the wrist. 

Andrew does not reply, even though Allison is right. Mr. and Mrs. Cheerleader are the type to collect children they have no interest in loving so that their friends will talk about how  _ good  _ and  _ upstanding _ they are. Because Andrew can’t forget anything, he remembers that the cheerleader had an eating disorder that almost killed her three separate times. Her parents have money, and influence, and probably donate a lot of money to a lot of people for a lot of reasons. Andrew is unemployed and has a record. Nicky has a husband. Will or not, Mr. and Mrs. Cheerleader probably have a case.  _ Under no circumstances. _ It does not matter. They will not touch Aaron’s children.




Two weeks pass quickly. There is a brownstone to put on the market (funds immediately put away in matching savings accounts), too many visits from lawyers and social workers with fake smiles and dead eyes who Andrew knows better than to talk to, leaving them instead to friendly Nicky and trustworthy Erik. Andrew knows too well that those eyes usually focus on the wrong things. There are diapers to buy and baby toys to pack and photos for Nicky to cry over and Andrew to stare at, dry eyed, far too late into the night. Andrew and the girls drop Nicky and Erik off at the airport, Nicky to Columbia to convert Aaron’s room into a nursery and Erik to Germany to get his affairs in order, and then the three of them hit the road. Andrew, occasionally willing to risk his own life in a metal death tube, stubbornly refused to subject the girls to that, and Nicky needed time to babyproof the house and most of the girls' stuff fit in the truck Andrew rented. 

The road trip is long and difficult, because babies are loud and they need a lot of care. But they always accept the bottle of formula from Andrew and babble and grab his face because they are too stupid and young to realize that he is not their father. Andrew is thankful they look like him every time they have to stop so he can feed or change them. They spend the night at a hotel (no motels, not for these girls, Andrew refuses to take them anywhere rooms can be rented by the hour) and no one questions his right to have them with him. He gets a lot of looks, with one strapped to his back and one strapped to his chest as he hauls the pack-n-play and diaper bag to and from his room, but his poisonous glare is enough to keep them from commenting. It's only a twelve hour drive, spread over two days, but Andrew has never been so happy to see a bed by the time they pull into the familiar driveway of the Columbia house. He hands Nicky the car seats and pointedly shuts the door to his bedroom. 

He sleeps for sixteen full hours. When he wakes up and wanders down to the kitchen for coffee and food, he is greeted by the sight of an exhausted Nicky pouring over paperwork at the kitchen table, cold cup of coffee at his elbow while the twins gurgle and smack at each other in the pack-n-play. “They’re contesting custody,” Nicky tells him, voice panicky. “Neither of us have jobs, and we’ll have to get a lawyer, Andrew!”

“Call Reynolds,” Andrew says, filling the percolator and taking down a mug and the sugar. 

“We can’t  _ afford _ her, not with how drawn out this case is gonna be. And we can’t both go back to work, because we can’t afford child care either!” Nicky sounds like he is going to start crying, and that will aggravate Andrew, so he knocks the documents to the floor. One sheet of paper floats down into the babies’ enclosure, and is promptly slobbered on. 

Andrew hates repeating himself, so he doesn’t bother. He just pulls up the lawyer's contact in Nicky’s phone and shoves it in his hand. He leaves the room so he doesn’t have to hear Nicky whine and settles with his coffee on the porch. He wants a cigarette, but second hand smoke is a menace to little humans so he squeezes his mug until it creaks and forces his addiction down down down and forces himself to think, because Nicky is hysterical, but he’s not wrong. 

Andrew doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when his phone rings. He looks at it hatefully through the third ring, because all phone calls have done lately is ruin his day and he doesn’t recognise the number,  _ who does he know in Baltimore? _ But Andrew has always been the type to face things head on, so he picks up on the fifth ring. He puts the phone to his ear and sits in stony silence. 

“Is this Andrew Minyard?” The voice is sharp, biting, but not aggressive. It is also vaguely familiar. 

If Andrew had a normal memory, he wouldn’t be able to place it, but Andrew never forgot anything, especially not- “Nathaniel Wesninski. The fuck do you want?”

“You. And my name is Neil Josten, Nathaniel is dead.” Andrew had only seen Nathaniel Wesninski in person one time, when he had dumped Kevin Day’s shattered body on Wymacks front porch. He had been nearly as beaten and bloody as Kevin was, but there was nothing broken about his bright blue eyes, cold as ice, as they swept over Andrew, unimpressed with his knives and blank glare. “I never want to see him again, do you understand?” Wesninksi had said, gesturing at Kevin. And Andrew had understood. Nathaniel had gotten him out of the Nest, but he couldn’t keep him out. That was up to Andrew and Wymack. And, it turned out, Kevin. Cowardly,  _ cowardly _ Kevin. 

After that night, Andrew had started to notice him, quiet but unbroken in Riko’s shadow, collared by the Moriyama’s, but not owned in the way that Jean Moreau obviously was. “I don’t talk about dead men.” Andrew said, because there was really only one reason this man would be calling him, and Andrew had washed his hands of that particular problem. 

“Kevin gave me your number,” Nathaniel-  _ Neil _ continued, as if Andrew hadn’t spoken. Andrew hung up the phone, and declined the three calls that came through immediately after. Finally, the phone stopped ringing. Andrew had nothing to say to or about Kevin. Kevin had made his choice, and Andrew knew better than anyone about accepting the consequences of their actions. A lesson, he supposed, Kevin was finally learning. Nathaniel would not pawn him off on Andrew again. 

“Ummm, Andrew?” Nicky calls from inside the house, “someone is on the phone for you!”

Had Kevin given Nathaniel Nicky’s number too? Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all. Andrew flipped his phone back open and hit redial. “That’s weird,” he absently heard Nicky yell, “They hung up!”

“I will warn you once,” Andrew says when the line connects, “you will leave my family alone or I will cut out your tongue.”

“You are such an asshole. I’m trying to help you. Protective as you are, I thought you’d want to know why Aaron was killed.”

Andrew freezes, breath catching in his throat, mind going blank, his body coils tight, ready to strike and hurt and punish. “What.” He forces out, through numb lips. Nathaniel is Riko’s pet, he reminds himself. Nathaniel is a liar. 

“I will give you his killer and whatever else you need,” Nathaniel says, voice sharp and burrowing deeper into Andrew’s brain with each word. “In exchange for protection.” 

“Why should I believe a word you say?”

Nathaniel laughs, but it's a dark sound. “Normally, you shouldn’t trust anything that comes out of my mouth. But I have proof, and you have nothing to lose. Think about what else you want and meet me tomorrow.” He rattles off an address in Baltimore and hangs up. 

Andrew shuts his phone and pulls out a knife, walking it between his fingers as he thinks. Nathaniel is wrong, Andrew has two things still to lose. Two and a half if he counted his idiot cousin, which he unfortunately did. But. But Andrew has knives and Nathaniel says he has proof, and the girls have Nicky. It really isn’t much of a decision in the end; Andrew has always liked making deals after all. It’s an eight hour drive and the sun is already beginning to set. Andrew goes inside and grabs his keys. 

  
  



	2. Storytime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief non explicit mentions of Andrew's abuse and I think that's all?

For a glorified cemetery, Leakin Park looks a lot like, well, a park. The irony of Nathaniel wanting to meet him here isn’t lost on Andrew. He wonders idly if it's supposed to be a threat. The sun is mostly risen, painting the morning clouds orange. Andrew picked up a few pastries at the coffee shop he stopped by on the way, but the mix of caffeine and nicotine on his empty stomach makes the idea of breakfast vaguely nauseating. 

Andrew pulls the lighter from his dash and brings it to the cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke drifting out of the cracked window. The air is brisk and chilly, colder than South Carolina, but nothing compared to Chicago. Andrew is still blasting the heat, he has never been particularly well suited to the cold. 

And that, he tells himself, is why he can’t take his eyes off of the young jogger. He’s appalled by how little he’s wearing, Andrew tells himself, it has nothing to do with how long those legs are, under those tiny shorts. It isn’t until the jogger nears the GS that Andrew realizes he’s looking at Nathaniel. The realization sinks into him with a jolt, Andrew does not like surprises.

It’s true that he hadn’t seen the other man lingering behind Riko at press conferences lately, since he’s been avoiding any reminder of Kevin for almost two years. But this Nathaniel, _Neil_ his mind unhelpfully supplies, has very little in common with Riko’s spiteful shadow. For one thing, he’s been put through a meat grinder. His hair is no longer dull black, but an eye-catching auburn that burns in the weak sunlight. It does little to distract Andrew from the mess of his face. One cheek is bisected by four neat lines, as if he had a run in with a particularly feral tiger. Or pressed his face into a blade over and over again. Perhaps to escape whatever melted his other cheek like a candle. 

A dashboard lighter, Andrew guesses, assessing the rows of precise circles peeking out from under Neil’s sleeves as he reaches for the car door. Before he can think too much about it, Andrew plucks the nub of hot coils out of its place and drops it into his cold coffee, out of sight. 

“Hey,” Neil says, plopping his sweaty ass onto Andrew’s leather seats. “You’re early.”

Andrew does not watch Neil run his mangled fingers through his hair. “You stink,” he says eventually, “and you have been far too brutalized to not know better than to get into cars with strangers.”

Unexpectedly, Neil grins, a vicious, sharp thing that reminds Andrew that it's never wise to underestimate feral cats. His eyes are the same cold blue that struck Andrew all those years ago, when he should have been more focused on the bloody mess on Wymack’s door step. “Usually, you’d be right,” Neil admits. “I don’t have the best record of winning fights, but these days I’m on a bit of a roll. Besides, it's not strangers I've ever had to worry about."

_Dangerou_ s. Andrew forcefully unclenches his fingers so he doesn't snap his cigarette. 

Neil’s right knee is jumping, and irritatingly erratic motion that uncharacteristically makes Andrew want to reach out a hand and stop it. He takes a pull from his cigarette instead, and blows the smoke in Neil’s face in retaliation. But Neil, the fucker, leans in with a sigh instead of pulling back and coughing like Andrew had wanted. “You said you had something for me.” Andrew says, reminding himself why he’s here. He wants to stare out the window at the trees and ignore the inconvenience next to him, but Neil is dangerous, a threat, Andrew can’t afford to take his eyes off of him. 

“First you have to do something for me.” Neil says immediately, as if he isn’t in a strangers car in only tiny shorts and a loose long sleeve shirt. As if Andrew couldn’t make him tell him about Aaron. As if he hadn’t told Andrew to meet him at a notorious body dump. He is either incredibly stupid or incredibly confident in his ability to survive anything Andrew could do to him. Someone here is being underestimated. For once, Andrew isn’t sure that it’s him. 

Andrew raises an eyebrow and taps his finger against the wheel in time with his pulse. “No. You asked me to come here on your word that someone murdered Aaron,” _someone had murdered Aaron_. He was supposed to be safe. Andrew had bled for him, all for nothing. “You do not have enough credit to be this overdrawn.” How typical it was, to take and take and take. 

Neil holds out his hand imperiously. “Give me your phone,” he demands, making grabby hands like the babies did. Andrew looks at him incredulously, but finds himself unlocking his device and plopping it into his waiting hand. 

Where’s that apathy now? He wonders, prodding at the curl of unexpected curiosity in his chest. “I should have brought the file with me,” Neil admits ruefully, “I thought I’d have time to go back before meeting you but my run went long. It’s in your inbox. You should delete it after you read it.” Neil’s fingers don’t brush Andrew’s as he hands the phone back. He seems to be waiting for Andrew to check his email, but Andrew just stares through him out the window. 

He had expected Neil to whine, or push, or demand more. It’s a simple transaction, it shouldn’t buy as much credit with Andrew as it does. “You said you wanted protection.” Andrew states, crawling back to firmer ground. He can do protection. 

“In exchange for money and revenge, yes.” Neil says, nodding. 

“And honesty.” Andrew says. “If I am going to watch your back you will not lie to me.”

Neil laughs in his face. It’s a sharp, sad sound that grinds through Andrew unexpectedly. “Don’t take it personally,” Neil says, “I am every inch a lie.”

It is probably the most honest thing Neil has ever said to Andrew, which is the only reason he accepts it. If Neil had promised him the truth, Andrew would have kicked him out of the car right then and found his answers about Aaron his own way. “Not good enough,” Andrew says. 

“You’ll get my trust when you earn it,” Neil says. “Two weeks. Keep me here for the next two weeks and ask me again.”

“Here.” Andrew latches onto that little linguistic choice immediately. “Planning on going somewhere?”

“It’s not my plans that I’m worried about.” Neil says, face carving into an antagonistic snarl, but eyes a bit overwhelmed and desperate. Like he’s about to go down fighting. Neil lapses into silence, eyes on Andrew, waiting for his decision. He doesn’t explain any more, which he will have to, eventually, in order for Andrew to do his job but. But it’s enough. It is clear that Neil is a rabbit, that standing his ground is foreign territory for him. But he is no victim, he will not cower behind Andrew, or crawl back to his abuser because of his own weakness. _How refreshing._

“Two weeks. I need a few days to get my shit together, payment in advance, and my own room, close to yours.” Andrew unlocks the car doors, in case his dismissal was unclear. 

Neil climbs out, easy as anything, and leans back down, elbows resting on the sill as Andrew lowers the windows. “What’s in two weeks?” Andrew asks.

Neil smiles wryly, “dinner with my uncle.”

Andrew blinks, starts the car. “Neil.” He says before the other man can step back. Neil freezes, his smile fades and softens. He looks younger. In another world, he’d still be in college, Andrew realizes, and remembers how exhausted Neil had sounded on the phone, telling him that Nathaniel is dead, as if it's all he ever says, as if no one ever hears him say it. “Neil.” Andrew says again, fixes him with his eyes, almost caring enough to make it a glare. “You will stay until I can get back and keep you here. Can you do that? Yes or no?”

Neil’s eyes close, and they are hard and flinty again when they reopen. “Yes,” he says and steps back just in time for Andrew to spin away from the curb. Neil starts to run again, but Andrew knows he’s still watching, and the window is still down, so he brings two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute as he passes, close enough to the curb splash Neil with a puddle from last night’s rain. 

\--

It takes another eight hours for Andrew to drive back home. He doesn’t listen to music this time, instead he thinks about the document he had read in the parking lot of the Wendy’s, untouched frosty melting in the cupholder. It’s all there, financial records and incriminating emails that tell a twisted, sordid tale. Riko, it seems, had grown tired of Andrew’s continued defiance by denying him Kevin and decided revenge was necessary, even after Kevin crawled back. Riko had hired a private detective to search for a way to hurt him, and had found Aaron. It was a simple matter to find a washed out ex-con to drive a car into a restaurant at just the right time. All it took was a paltry amount of money and Andrew had no more brother. His nieces had no parents. It's sickening how cheaply Riko bought two lives. 

Choking rage reaches out one familiar claw-fingered hand and throttles Andrew until he’s sick with it. It takes all of the drive, driven at screaming speed, just daring a pig to pull him over for Andrew’s considerable self-control to pull him back together. 

Andrew has always thought that revenge is a useless pursuit. It had never even occurred to him to do anything to Drake or his other abusers except see them in jail. But this. Neil promised to get him in a room with Riko, and Andrew is going to teach him how useless it is to beg someone to stop, when they have no mercy to offer. Andrew has to pull the car to the side of the road and smoke a few cigarettes before he is calm enough to enter a house with children. 

Nicky looks exhausted and his eyes are dull, but he still fakes a smile when he sees Andrew. He is the ultimate caretaker, willing to sacrifice anything for any family that won’t reject him the way his parents did. “You’re back!” Nicky greets, loudly, over the squalling babies. The bottle warmer beeps and he carefully extracts the glass bottle with a towel. “Where, uh, where did you go?” He replaces the steaming bottle with a cold one and closes the heater. 

Andrew won’t be able to think until the girls are quiet, so he snatches the heated bottle once the glass has cooled enough to handle and tests a drop of formula on the back of his hand. Then he shoves the nipple into a screaming mouth and half the noise miraculously disappears. Moments later, Nicky drops into the chair next to him with another bottle for the other hungry gremlin and the cries finally die down. “Oh, thank god,” Nicky says, with feeling. His shirt is wrinkled and stained and his eyes are as bleary as they used to be after a night out at Eden’s, back in college. 

“I got a job,” Andrew tells him, and carefully maneuvers his phone out of his pocket with one hand to show Nicky the ten thousand dollars Neil had transferred him for the two week trial. Nicky blinks and drops the bottle with a crash that sets both girls to screaming again. “Oh, fuck you. Get out.”

“Ten grand? What did you do in one day to earn-” Nicky cuts himself off with a squawk when Andrew flips him off and points firmly at the door. “Whatever,” Nicky says, rolling his eyes and leaving the room. Andrew rubs his temples and offers the girls their bottles. 

When the babies are finally full, he burps them briefly before tucking one in each of his elbows. They are sleepy and squirmy and so warm. Andrea yawns, flashing a single emerging tooth, Nicole makes a little fist in his shirt. Warmth curls tentative fingers around Andrew’s heart, his face creaks, like it's trying to smile. 

Andrew pauses in Aaron’s doorway, it’s the first time he’s been in this room since- well, it's been a long time. For a moment, Andrew almost sees Aaron’s familiar sneer as he looks up his phone to yell at him to get out. Then Andrew blinks. Aaron’s bed has been removed and replaced by two cribs, a rocking chair, a changing table and scattered toys across the old carpet. Andrew changes the girls, one after the other and closes a row of buttons over their soft, distended bellies. They murmur and fuss as he lays them down, but by the time he reaches the doorway, the whitenoise machine is the loudest thing in the room. 

He double checks the baby monitor, and shoves it in his hoodie. Nicky is waiting for him in the living room, clutching a mug of coffee. The television is on, but Nicky isn’t watching. Andrew sighs and walks to the kitchen for a coffee of his own. He makes his with a generous glug of whiskey and hazelnut creamer and takes it back with him to the living room. 

Nicky watches him cautiously, clinking his wedding ring against the ceramic in his hands. “Okay,” Andrew finally relents, “Talk.”

“Where did you get the money? Where did you go? How the fuck are we supposed to raise babies? Everytime I look at them all I see is-”

“Shut up,” Andrew can’t let Nicky finish that question. He focuses on answering the others instead. “This is what is going to happen; you are going to stay here with the girls. I will be in Baltimore for a few weeks, working. When does Erik get back?”

“Tomorrow, but-”

“Good. The two of you will be able to handle it while I’m gone.” 

Nicky opens his mouth to say something tiresome, so Andrew shuts him up with one threatening finger shoved in his direction and leaves the room, taking the monitor with him in his niece's wake in the night. 

He crawls into bed soon after, but his mind keeps working. His memory pulls up every detail of his conversation with Neil, but he still can’t get a read on the other man. Paranoid, but trusting, all sharp edges and flashes of desperate vulnerability, honest about being a liar. He doesn’t make sense. Neil is fascinating,  _ it’s almost a shame _ Andrew muses as he drifts off _ I’ll lose interest soon enough.  _

\--

Andrew spends the weekend talking to far more people than he usually prefers. Blessedly, Nicky pulls Erik into their bedroom as soon as his husband steps through the doorway, so Andrew tucks the girls into the Maserati and takes them with him half-way to Palmetto, where he meets Renee for coffee. “I got a job,” he tells her. “Another raven has flown the Nest.”

Renee’s smile stays soft as she lifts it from Nicole, one little fist wrapped around her crucifix, to Andrew, but her eyes are sharp. 

“Is that a good idea?” she asks gently, and doesn’t back down when he glares at her. She waits patiently for a response, delicately drinking her tea. 

“That’s not why I’m telling you.” Andrew says eventually. “The job is in Baltimore.”

Renee tilts her head slightly. Andrew grits his teeth, hoping that she isn’t going to make him spell it out. Andrea hits him in the face and then gurgles with delight at the stern glower he turns on her. She is content in these hands, which have only ever been used to hurt. It’s… baffling. 

“Would you like me to drop by the house every few days, give Nicky and Erik a hand?” Renee asks, eyes warm and  _ knowing _ . Andrew wants to punch her. He nods jerkily instead. “Okay,” Renee says easily, and they move on to other topics. 

\--

Andrew calls Allison Reynolds on the way home. “We need a lawyer,” he says as soon as she picks up. 

“Wow, hello to you too, Monster. How are you doing? I’m doing well, thanks  _ so  _ much for asking.” Reynolds’ voice is falsely sweet and sarcastic as hell, Andrew looks at the two carseats through the rearview mirror and reminds himself why he can’t just hang up the phone. 

“Can you handle the grandparents lawyers, yes or no? Your fee will not be a problem.”

“I don’t give a shit about the money, Minyard,” Reynolds snaps. “If Aaron and Kaitlyn said they’d prefer your psycho ass to her parents then I’m sure as shit not going to turn them over-”

“Get to the point,” Andrew cuts her off through gritted teeth. He doesn’t need her support or sympathy or whatever, he just needs to know if he needs to find a new lawyer.

“Fuck you. Their lawyers are gonna dig up a bunch of old shit, but your record is sealed and I’ll make it damn clear to the judge that I’ll throw a fit if they drag Nicky’s sexuality into it. Barring that, it should be okay, especially if you have any documentation of abuse on the grandparents side.” Andrew does not like Allison Reynolds, but she’s a shark in the courtroom and has unimpeachable integrity. 

He still hangs up on her once he gets his answer. She’ll bitch about it, but then she’ll call Nicky and he’s who she should be talking to anyway. Andrew has a sinking feeling about who Neil is and what his father did and that’s not something he needs to be anywhere near a custody case. 

Nicky looks well fucked and relaxed when they get back, but he and Erik have found their pants so Andrew leaves the babies with them and retreats to his room to pack. Although he will never admit it, Andrew’s glad that Erik is back. The german is good for Nicky, a nurturing and calming influence that Nicky so desperately needs. Also, he can cook. Andrew decides to put off leaving until after dinner, and then til the next morning when he finds himself stuffed and exhausted after a second slice of the apricot cake Erik baked. 

Afterall, Neil promised to be there when Andrew got back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not thrilled with how I ended this and I almost put it off another week to edit it more and then I remembered that I do what I want.


	3. Haunted House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw:  
> non graphic conversations about attempted sexual assault  
> light violence

The house is old and massive and incredibly expensive. It’s all red brick and white finishes, with flowers on the window sills and a solid black door. Andrew hates it before he even gets out of the Maserati. 

The Wesninski house sits on a quiet, tree lined street, occupied by large houses and families wearing expensive clothes, walking their dogs or watching their children ride bikes. Living on a street like this was all Andrew wanted, once. He found out soon enough about the monsters that hide behind ivy-covered trellises and white mailboxes. 

Andrew smokes a cigarette and stares at the house. In fits and starts, Kevin had told him about the Moriyama criminal empire. He hadn’t known much about the main branch, but he had given Andrew an overview. The first borns, with the power and influence, the second borns with daddy issues and viciousness. Kevin had also explained in a panic one night, of the monsters each Moriyama son kept on their leash; Nathan, the butcher, and Nathaniel, given to Riko to break into the image of his father. 

After their meeting last week, Andrew isn’t sure he succeeded. Oh, Neil was clearly damaged and had hinted at his own inner darkness, but he stood on his own outside of the Nest. Unless this was a trap for Andrew, Riko would never allow one of his pets so far off leash. If it was a trap, it was flawlessly designed, Andrew had to admit.  _ Bait and teeth all in one very pretty package. _

It is certainly something to think about. 

Andrew finishes his cigarette and shoulders his bag, walking purposefully towards the door. He rings the bell obnoxiously loud and long and immediately loathes the woman who opens it moments later. 

She is pretty, in a black widow kind of way, all sharp fingernails and blood red smile. Her eyes are glacier-cold, and the way she looks at Andrew makes his fingers twitch for his knives. She doesn’t miss the movement, and her smile turns amused, if a bit assessing. “Can I help you?” she purrs, standing firmly between Andrew and the interior of the house. 

Andrew blinks at her dismissively. “You? No.”

“Lola!” Neil snaps from inside the house, voice cold and cutting and promising pain. “Was I unclear when I dismissed you?” Lola steps reflexively out of the house, turning her simpering smile on Neil as he emerges from the dark interior. 

Same face, same scars, same hair, but this man looks nothing like the messy and smirking runner Andrew met in his GS. No, this man has a pane of ice between his skin and everything that makes him Neil. “Nathaniel,” Lola croons, “Honey, your father-”

“I killed my father,” Neil reminds her. “I will not tell you again that you are unwelcome in my mother’s house.” 

Lola’s smile crystalizes and shatters. “Romero, DiMaccio and I will be back in the morning, darling,  _ do _ be ready for us, we would hate to have any ah… miscommunications.” It is nothing less than a threat, and Neil flinches back for a moment, before his spine straightens in defiance, cruel smirk growing across his face. 

“Of course,” he says silkily, “We are up for an employment review aren’t we? Go now.”

With one last knife-edged smile, Lola saunters away, humming something that sounds suspiciously like a nursery rhyme. Andrew carefully watches her go. She is a threat, that much is very clear. As soon as her car pulls away, Neil exhales shakily and leans against the wall. “Hello, Andrew,” he says wanly, “would you like to come in?”

Andrew eyes him critically before stepping into the entryway. The floors are dark hardwood, the walls are painted a dark red, the house is lit with several chandeliers that do little to dispel the darkness. “She’s going to kill you,” Andrew observes, following Neil down a hallway to an industrial looking kitchen. 

Neil looks over his shoulders and smiles his sharp smile. “Oh, yes. Soon too, I think. Would you like tea? Or I have wine or whatever’s in there.” Andrew follows his gesture and opens a hutch that sits across from the table, already set with plates and napkins, a pizza box between them. 

Andrew hums in satisfaction when he spots an expensive bottle of whiskey, mostly full. He pours himself a glass and helps himself to pizza, it's still hot. “What do I need to know?” he asks, when his first piece is gone and Neil is sitting down, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. 

Neil sighs and reaches for the pizza. “I can either trust you to keep me safe, or one of us is going to end up dead,” he starts. “I’m only telling you this because either you already know and are planning on killing or kidnapping me, or you don’t know and Kevin was right and you can help me… stay.”

Andrew stares at him and takes a big bite of the pizza, sausage and extra cheese. Neil, it seems, isn’t big on vegetables. Andrew thinks about what Neil said as he chews his food. Andrew knows that he loathes the Moriyama’s and is willing to protect and ground Neil, but he has no way to convince Neil of that. Words mean nothing to someone who has been betrayed as much as they have been. 

“Riko had Aaron killed,” Andrew says. “I will kill him for it.”

Neil nods. “Riko had Aaron killed because he knew that Kevin returned out of his own weakness, not because he beat you, and that was intolerable. He was always unhinged, but he’s become worse over the last year or so. Two months ago, his father died without ever acknowledging him and he snapped. He finally decided he had enough of my mouth. Well,” Neil’s eyes go dark and empty, voice turning wry. “He said he found a better use for it at least.” 

Andrew’s stomach twists with fury, pizza settling like a stone in his gut. “He took me down to his room,” Neil continues, “and kicked everyone out. That was a mistake.” A smile twists across his face. “I bit him hard enough that he’ll think twice before shoving his dick anywhere that has teeth again.”

Andrew wants to smile too, but the urge doesn’t quite reach his face. Neil, it seems, is a fighter, a survivor. 

“I left him there,” Neil continues. His voice is steady, but that cold smile is still firmly in place. “He was bleeding and crying. My father was still upstairs. Riko said that if I wasn’t… good for him, he’d have the Butcher hurt me worse. I looked down and realized I’d taken Riko’s knife, and I was dead anyway, for what I’d done to him, so I went upstairs. It’s funny, after all those years of having others subdue his victims, he was very out of practice. I- I still can’t believe he was that easy to kill.” Neil’s hands twist his napkin around his fingers. “I should feel bad - but I don’t. I would do it again.” He looks up at Andrew as if looking for condemnation. 

“I killed Aaron’s mother for hitting him,” Andrew says. “And I would have beaten four men to death for attacking my cousin, but I was stopped first. You bit the dick off of someone who tried to shove it down your throat against your will, and knifed a serial killer. If you’re looking for pity or a guilt-trip, look elsewhere. I do not have time for your dramatics. You mentioned an uncle, where does he fit in?”

Neil’s smile shifts, turns softer, closer to what it was for that moment in the GS. “My mother was a Hatford. They run a small but very well established crime syndicate in the UK. After my father killed my mom, Uncle Stuart convinced Ichirou, the new Moriyama Lord, to let him take my father out in exchange for a few favors. That’s why the Nest was so empty that day, Ichirou cleared the way for my uncle. He found me there, laughing and bloody and smuggled me out before the Moriyama’s realized what I’d done.”

Neil sips his tea and nibbles his pizza, looking like he’s gathering his thoughts. Andrew is curious, but he knows how to be patient. He doesn’t have to wait long. “He wants me to come back to the UK with him. I have a knack for languages, as well as… other skills. He has suggested that if I don’t go and work for him, the main branch will learn that I killed their butcher, and they will retaliate. My mother took me and we ran for a few years when I was a child. We were desperate and alone and terrified, and she never called her family.” 

Neil looks Andrew dead in the eyes. “When Riko recovers, he will be vicious in his retaliation. Lola and my father’s other Lieutenants will cut me to pieces when they realize that I’m not protected by the Moriyama’s. It’s only a matter of time before the Ichirou finds out I killed Nathan and don’t intend to take his place. As for my uncle, I don’t know if he’ll kidnap me when I refuse to go back to England with him, but he’s made it clear that I have value to the family and I can’t imagine he’ll just let me go.”

“You’ve made quite a mess, haven’t you?” Andrew says mildly. He has never met anyone so many powerful people have wanted to kill, but even though Neil is pretty much still a stranger he isn’t in the least surprised. 

“I know it’s not fair to expect you to guard me- and I don’t expect you to protect me from any of them. I just- all I’ve ever done is run, and I just want to live until one of them manages to kill me.” Neil inhales deeply, shoulders slumping. His smile is long gone. He looks young and sad and desperate. Like someone who needs to let go, but never learned how. “If you can just help me stand my ground, I’ll give you Riko and the rest of the Butcher’s fortune when I die.”

_ I don’t want your money, _ the words are on the tip of his tongue, but Andrew bites them back because the truth is that he needs it for his nieces. None of his deals have ever involved money before. He prefers to ask for something more valuable from the people he protects. Of course, no one has ever upheld their end of the bargain. He should know better, because he doesn’t know how to protect anyone except for fiercely and with single minded fury. When the Moriyama’s or Hatford’s or Lola come for Neil, Andrew won’t just step aside. 

“I’ll protect you,” Andrew swears. “In exchange for Riko’s head and money and the truth, and no one will touch you.”

“Until someone comes for me,” Neil asserts. 

Andrew is not a liar, so he doesn’t say anything. He finishes his pizza and downs his whiskey and stares at Neil until he gets the hint and rises to his feet. “If you’re finished, I’ll show you to your room.”

Andrew shoulders his bag and follows Neil back through the oppressive hallway and past the still, dark row of rooms. Neil climbs the red-carpet covered stairs to the second floor. He opens the first door on the left and gestures inside. “My room is down the hall, on the other side of the library. Text me if you need anything, I’ll probably stab you if you enter my bedroom.”

Andrew fixes Neil with a stern glare. “I will _definitely_ stab you if you come in my room.” 

Neil smiles. “Fair enough. Help yourself to the kitchen and you should have everything you need. There are towels in the bathroom and the sheets on the bed are clean. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Andrew.”

Andrew shuts the door in his face. The smile on Neil’s mouth wrapping around Andrew’s name is just… too much. He needs to think and to process and to call Nicky and ask about the girls. He does not need any more of that dangerous mouth. 

The room is lush and expensive, all cherry wood and silk sheets and a claw foot tub in the bathroom. Andrew can barely breath until he opens the heavy velvet curtains and the window allowing fresh air to seep into the tomb-like room. Even if Andrew didn’t know that Nathan Wesninski was a particularly brutal serial killer, he would still be able to taste the fear that has permeated every inch of his house. 

Andrew locks the door as exhaustion hits him. He needs to unpack and think and plan, but he can barely manage to change into sweats before he crawls into bed and falls asleep. 

\--

Neil strolls into the room and directly to the fridge, panting slightly. Andrew pauses with his toast halfway to his mouth, honey dripping down his fingers. He can’t help it. Neil’s wearing in  _ those shorts _ , uncut auburn hair tied back with the  _ ugliest _ orange bandana Andrew has ever seen and if the  _ panting _ wasn’t enough, a bead of sweat slides over his sharp jaw and down his throat and Andrew  _ hates _ him. “You know,” he says conversationally and Neil turns to look at him, holding his water bottle to his face. “Only an idiot would hire a bodyguard and then leave him behind to go on a run.”

Neil smiles, a crooked, genuine thing. “Yeah, well, they’d have to catch me first.”

“I’d run you over with my car. I might do it anyway, I hate you that much.” Andrew doesn't mention the state of Neil's face, which suggests that he has, in fact, been caught before.

“That’s the spirit. No, really, my father’s people are coming over in an hour and we might have to kill them.” Neil puts his water down and grabs an orange from the overfull fruit bowl. His elegant, scarred fingers reduce the peel to a delicate spiral with careless efficiency and a small kitchen knife.

Andrew shrugs.  _ Sometimes, people have to be killed to protect other, more important ones. _ Historically, he’s good at it and he doesn’t believe in regret. After meeting Lola, he is confident he’d be willing to kill her and anyone she called ‘friend’.

“Andrew,” Neil says, drawing his wandering attention from his hand and back to his heartbreak of a face. “At least one of them is going to come at me with a knife. You have to let me deal with it when it happens.”

“No. You hired me to protect you. When a psychopath with a knife comes at you, you stand down and let me deal with it.” Andrew is adamant. Whatever bullshit ideas Neil has about Andrew backing down from his fight are becoming tiresome. 

Neil grins. “You know, according to Kevin,  _ you _ are a psychopath with a knife.” 

That earns him an unamused glare, which elicits a baffling look of delight from Neil. Who is this man who reacts so unexpectedly to Andrew? Who rejects the protection he so desperately needs? Who killed one of his monsters and bit the dick off of another, but needs help to stand his ground against those who remain? 

“You will  _ let me deal with them. _ ” Andrew commands.

“No,” Neil says, soft and resolute all at the same time. 

Andrew has very strong rules about that particular word. He has never wanted to break them so badly, but he wont.  _ Not ever.  _ “Why am I here?” he bites the words out with unfamiliar venom. 

“Because I need someone to have my back if all of them come at me at the same time. Because Lola taught me how to use knives and I know that I can beat her, but every time she smiles at me I want to hyperventilate and she’ll gut me if she finds that out. Because you are literally the only person I know who doesn’t want to put me in a cage. Take your pick of whichever reason you prefer, just promise me you’ll let me deal with it when they challenge me.” Neil is captivating when he’s honest. He’s enthralling when he does what he agreed to: truth for an anchor. 

_ Andrew has always been good at weighing people down.  _

“Don’t come crying to me when someone breaks your face,” Andrew says dismissively. It’s as close to a yes as Neil’s going to get. He needs to cut his losses and get out of Andrew’s sight. Andrew can’t stand him right now. 

“Not much left to break,” Neil waves a careless hand at the devastation of his face. 

“ _ That  _ is quite enough out of you. Go shower before I hurt you.”

“One hour,” Neil flips the knife casually in his hand and slips it back in the block without even wiping off the citrus.  _ Disgusting. _

Then, blessedly, he leaves Andrew alone with his coffee and way too many emotions. 

\---

Lola and the two men she has with her don’t even bother to ring the bell. They walk right in like they own the place. Andrew slowly marks his place in his novel and runs his eyes over them, not bothering to hide his disdain. 

Lola sneers right back at him, the two hulking brutes behind her have already looked away, dismissing him as a threat.  _ Fools.  _ “Where’s Junior?” Lola simpers through blood kissed lips. 

Andrew blinks at her slowly, pretending he doesn’t know who she’s talking about. He’s sitting on the stairs, blocking the only way up to Neil, and all four of them know it. Hulking shadow number one takes an aggressive step forward but is held back by Lola. Smart of her. Andrew would have gutted him. 

“We are expected,” Lola tries again, rage growing in her eyes. She doesn’t like his insolence and is unused to being disrespected in this house. If Neil gets his way today - and Andrew will see to it that he does - she will have to get used to it. Or die. Lola dying is also an acceptable outcome. 

“If only you had the right address. There is no Junior here.”

“Oh, I look forward to playing with you. Junior always did like to watch-” one of Andrew’s knives slides into his hand and he whips it up and under her chin before she can react. She twitches abortively half a second too late to stop him. He’ll have to send Renee a fruit basket, she’s done wonders for his speed. 

“Say it again and I’ll cut out your tongue.” They stand frozen, neither willing to back down. One of the men lurches forward and Andrew draws blood. “Ah ah ah.”

“Making friends?” Neil asks from the top of the stairs. Andrew’s not sure if he’s talking to him or Lola, but he doesn’t react. “Lola, DiMaccio, Romero, I didn’t hear you knock. My mother always did say you were too stupid to remember basic etiquette.”

“Nathaniel-”

“It’s Neil now,” Neil says with relish. “I have quite literally sliced Nathan from all aspects of my life.” Andrew wants to roll his eyes, it's no wonder so many people want to kill him, he’s such a smart mouthed instigator. Andrew vows to never introduce him to the Foxes, he would fit right in and then Andrew would never get any peace. 

Lola flushes a dull red, fury and humiliation is not a good look for her. Andrew feels Neil’s stare heavy on the back of his head. He doesn’t turn to look or step out from between Neil and Lola, but he lowers the knife. Neil has made him promise after all. “You ungrateful  _ worm! _ He should have carved you out of that whore of a mother-”

“Are you here to kill me, Lola? You must be, because you know that’s the only way I’ll let you leave this house after disrespecting my mother a day after I told you to  _ never do that again _ .”  Neil’s voice is hard and tight and Andrew, without looking at him, knows that his eyes have iced over and are all murder.

“I got a call from Riko Moriyama,” Lola coos, rage twisting back into her sick smile. “As it turns out, Ichirou did not approve of you killing your father. He said he can insure his brother's support for me taking over, if I turn you over to him. I’m supposed to tell you that he’s going to pry out every single one of your teeth.”

“Come upstairs, Lola,” Neil invites, all venom. “Andrew, would you keep the boys company? Ensure that Lola and I have privacy?” He turns his lethal attention to Romero and DiMaccio. “You can have all of her pieces back when I’m done with her, don’t worry.”

Andrew locks every single one of his muscles and bites his cheek until he tastes blood, but he allows Lola to saunter past him. Every part of him protests doing this Neil’s way. He’s not used to the people he protects being willing to do much more than hide behind him or sullenly pull on their leashes. But Neil is not like them. 

Neil and Lola vanish up the stairs, leaving him to supervise the two hulking men. For a moment, Andrew thinks they’re going to rush him, but a flick of his knife sends tiny droplets of Lola’s blood flying through the air. Romero twitches, but he doesn’t move, eyes darting to the stairs.

Someone above them is slammed into a wall, making a chandelier jingle. Lola cackles, the sound abruptly coming off. Another slam, then a drawn out hiss of pain and fury. 

Romero makes a noise when Lola appears at the top of the stairs, dripping blood from the crude X that has been carved across her left cheekbone in the exact spot someone-  _ she?- _ had pressed a dashboard lighter to Neil’s face, over and over again. Neil appears behind her, carelessly cleaning his blade on her shirt as he brushes past her. She flinches despite clear efforts not to. 

“What have we learned, Lola?” Neil asks, voice cold and quiet as an arctic night. 

Lola clenches her teeth and reaches for her knife, but Neil’s still running it carelessly over his knuckles. “You are in charge,” each word is pulled from her painfully, “sir.”

Neil stares at her a moment longer, before turning to Andrew. Andrew meets his eyes steadily and lifts his chin infinitesimally towards Neil’s office. Neil’s eyes flicker, but he obediently vanishes back up the stairs. 

“That was your chance,” Andrew says softly, meeting each of their furious eyes one at a time. “If you ever come at him again I will disembowel you.” he pauses for a moment, to be sure that they have heard him. He doesn’t really care if they understand, they will find out just how serious he is if they lift one more finger against Neil. “Get out.”

Andrew takes great pleasure in throwing them out the door. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you think! Next update should be in two weeks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. 
> 
> ok well hello again to anyone who is still waiting on an update even though its been approximately 18 million years. 
> 
> thanks for sticking around!

Andrew doesn’t care enough about the Malcolm’s to slam the door behind them. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he puts them from his mind and goes in search of Neil. Neil had bit his tongue when Andrew had sent him up the stairs, but Andrew doubts Neil was happy about it. Andrew keeps his face blank as he climbs the stairs. He is a protective man, one more used to doling out orders than taking them, and he had recognized the wildness in Neil’s eyes and the slightest of tremors in his hands when he returned from cowing Lola. In a situation that required control, Neil had barely been clinging to the tatters of his, so Andrew had stepped in. If Neil didn’t like that, he could get a new bodyguard.

_ Far too late for that already _ . Andrew tries to push the thought away, but he’s not entirely successful. He’s too intrigued by Neil, already too committed to his promise of protection. There is no walking away now. Neil isn’t pacing on the landing, waiting to yell. Andrew peers into his office, but he isn’t at his desk either. Andrew stares at the cracked door to Neil’s bedroom. He does not have permission to enter it, and it's the only other viable option. “Neil?” he calls, rapping on the door with his knuckles. 

Silence, then a choked gasp, abruptly cut off. Andrew knows that sound, has made it himself a few times, many years ago. He knows what poorly managed panic sounds like. “Neil. I’m coming in, it’s just me.” He waits a few seconds, straining to hear any protests, but when he doesn’t, he pushes open the door and enters the room. 

Andrew sweeps the room with his eyes. It’s large and impersonal, continuing the vile color scheme of the rest of the house. Despite it clearly being occupied, this room is no more of a home than the rest of the damned house. Andrew’s eyes fixate on the hunched form in the farthest corner. 

Neil is crumpled on the floor, staring at Andrew with his piercing, panic stricken blue eyes. He looks at Andrew with a mix of desperation, defiance and weariness that makes something slow and angry begin to burn in Andrew’s core. He crosses the room on soft feet and crouches in front of Neil. “Breathe,” he says calmly. 

Neil glares at him, eloquent eyes clearly communicating how unhelpful that comment is. Andrew rolls his eyes and slowly crouches down until his face is level with the other mans. Neil watches him with cautious eyes but makes no move to shove him away. Andrew stretches out his hand and fastens it behind Neil’s neck. Neil flinches and Andrew releases him as if he’s been burned, lifting his hand off of his skin. Before Andrew can pull his hand back and try something else, Neil sighs and leans back into Andrew’s grip, tension bleeding out of him and airways clearing. 

“Is this okay?” Andrew asks, just to make sure.

“Yes,” Neil breathes and Andrew has to exhale sharply to extinguish the flash of fire that word, spoken by this man, ignites in his gut. 

They sit in silence for a long while, Andrew stares at the texture of Neil’s hair and waits for his pulse to slow back down beneath his fingertips. Andrew clears his mind and shifts his focus to his small bumblebee tattoo.  _ What would Bee think, _ Andrew wonders  _ about Neil? About Andrew as a guardian for Aaron’s children. Would she grieve for him? _

“Lola taught me how to use a knife,” Neil says, breaking into Andrew’s thoughts. Neil is looking at him, so Andrew looks back. Neil’s eyes are so, so blue. “On my fourth birthday she got me a tiny little blade and took me to the basement to carve up a hunk of meat. By the time I was six, the chunks of flesh were replaced by the fresh corpses of neighborhood pets. That’s when we began to spar, too. When I was ten, she brought me a litter of kittens, pressed the knife into my hand and told me to make my father proud.” Neil’s voice is detached, his eyes far, far away. 

Andrew holds his breath for two heartbeats before he exhales to make sure he remains in control. Andrew is no stranger to violence, but giving a knife to a child and pointing him at  _ kittens _ is sickening. Andrew remembers Neil’s pleasure and the snap of his teeth when he mentioned neutering Riko, remembers the sharpness of his smile as he put Lola in her place, remembers why he’s here. Neil is not someone who needs pity, even if Andrew had any to give. 

“When I wouldn’t skin them, Lola held me down while my father carved a line between every single one of my ribs.” Neil’s hands skim down his chest and sides, over the sweater that brings out his eyes. “I know how to use a knife. I know how to cut into a person and I’m not sorry that I hurt Lola before she could hurt me, or that I slit my fathers throat.” Neil finally meets Andrew’s eyes. “But I never wanted to be a butcher, all I wanted was to be left alone.”

It’s a truth scraped out of Neil’s soul like marrow from a bone. 

Andrew asks before he touches, he keeps his promises, he protects his people and occasionally himself. Andrew knows the dangers of obligation to another, he knows exactly how much he is willing to give up when he thinks he owes someone. A truth like this one cannot go unanswered. 

_ Truth for truth _ . Andrew has never been interested enough in another person to play this particular game before. Kevin tossed his truths at Andrew’s feet and left them there, expecting Andrew to hold and carry them for him. Aaron kept his secrets so badly Andrew was supposed to discover them, brother pushing brother until Aaron was pushed all the way to Illinois and Andrew was pushed out of his life entirely. Nicky’s secrets are handed out like candy and worthless for it. 

Neil’s truth is an offering. A soap bubble fading back into the air. It is  _ real _ , it is  _ freely given _ , and it is  _ worth something.  _

“Sometimes,” the words die in his throat. They are toxic and foul and taste like poison on Andrew’s tongue but he forces them out anyway.  _ Truth for truth _ . “Sometimes I think I’m like...him.” The fire in Neil’s eyes has died down. He looks calmly at Andrew’s face, quiet and accepting. “If I ever let myself want something badly enough-”  _ again  _ “I think I would just take it, whether it was freely offered or not.”

Neil already knows about Drake. The trial wasn’t widely publicized but it was public record. Even if it wasn’t, Riko still held Neil’s leash when he orchestrated the events that led to Aaron’s trial. Neil probably has more details than the jury did. Bleakly, Andrew wonders if Drake and Riko were ever in the same room together. He wonders if Riko ever put Neil in the same room with Drake and clenches his fists, imagining breaking every bone in Riko’s body until he is mulch, only worth anything to the plants who fed off of him. 

“You are not him,” Neil says and for a brief moment Andrew feels the suck of his old addiction to his medicine. How he would have laughed if he were still in their thrall. 

“You do not know me.” 

Neil shrugs and reaches up to open the in his nightstand. He pulls down a lighter and hands Andrew the cigarette his fingers are itching for. “I met him,” he pauses, clicking the lighter. “Once. You are not like him.”

The cigarette snaps in Andrew’s hand. A live ember dangles and falls onto Andrew’s thigh, burning through denim until it finally sizzles itself out on his skin. It takes far longer for the rage in his belly to burn itself out. 

Andrew’s nightmares that night feature Drake, but this time it's not Andrew’s body that he breaks beneath him. 

\--

Andrew wakes sweat drenched and shuddering. Violet predawn finger paints the sky, but there is already movement in the kitchen. Andrew changes his sweats and pulls on his knife-laden armbands before he shuffles down the stairs and blinks at the bright yellow light bathing the kitchen. “Coffee?” Neil asks, chipper and dressed for a run in his obscene shorts and hideous headband. It is too early to speak, so Andrew simply glares at him. Neil shrugs and takes out two mugs. Andrew snatches his and pours his coffee. He rifles through the cupboards until he finds a faded bag of clumping sugar. Andrew ignores Neil’s appalled look as he spoons in lump after lump into his coffee, until it is sweet enough to make the world tolerable. 

Neil tries to ignore him as he pulls out bags of frozen fruit and almonds and milk and throws them into a whirling blender, but Andrew keeps catching him glancing at him, a faint line of confusion between his brows. 

Neil is stupid, so he offers Andrew some of the smoothie after he pours a few mouthfuls into his own glass. Andrew glares at him until he puts the sweating blender down. “Suit yourself,” Neil mutters and gulps down his paltry breakfast. 

Andrew, it seems, is no better at ignoring Neil than Neil is at ignoring him.

“Okay,” Neil finally snaps when Andrew follows him out the door. “What are you doing?” 

Andrew shoots him a blank look and spins his car keys around his finger. “I don’t trust you not to trip over a knife if I leave you unsupervised. Get in the car.”

Neil clenches his teeth and exhales loudly through them. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Nevertheless.” Andrew unlocks the car. 

“I cannot possibly be paying enough to make you this annoying,” Neil mutters, getting into the car with a glare. 

Andrew blinks. He has been called many things in his life,  _ monster _ is popular, as is  _ controlling _ and  _ psycho. _ But  _ annoying? _ Annoying is new. Andrew slips in the car and buries  _ annoying _ under the familiar roar of the GS. 

Neil is blessedly quiet all the way to Leakin Park, but he doesn’t know how to sit still. He fidgets with the window until Andrew locks it, he taps his fingers against the door until Andrew raises the volume of his radio to  _ screaming _ . By the time they pull into the same parking lot they had met in two weeks ago, Neil is vibrating to be let out. 

Andrew hates him. 

The sun is just breaking through the heavy clouds to the east, sending pink and orange tendrils of light across the sky. Andrew parks in the middle of the large parking lot and lights up as Neil stretches. “Close the gate,” Andrew orders, gesturing to the metal bar that can be pulled across the entrance to the lot. No one else is here so early in the morning, and Andrew intends to keep it that way. 

They stare at each other for a few minutes before Neil mutters something unflattering and jogs off towards the mouth of the parking lot. Andrew ignores the faint buzz of attraction that races through his blood at Neil’s lean form in motion and turns his attention back to the darkest corners of the lot. 

“Stay where I can see you!” he calls, as Neil starts to loop towards the park. Neil flips him off, but stays to the edges of the broken pavement without dipping into the trees. Andrew perches himself on the hood of the GS and smokes, watching in vague disgust as Neil gets faster and faster with every loop around the parking lot. 

While Neil runs, Andrew pulls out his phone and calls Nicky. “Have you killed the children?” he asks, over Nicky’s enthusiastic greeting. 

“What? No, of course not, Andrew!” Andrew can hear the frown in Nicky’s voice. He considers hanging up, because Nicky would have told him by now if there was something wrong with the girls, but his eyes catch on the Bee tattoo on his thumb as he lifts his cigarette to his lips. 

He lets Nicky rattle on for a while about how Andrea is standing on her own, but Nicole hasn’t found her center of gravity yet. Erik is moved in and working, letting Nicky take the girls to baby yoga classes and music groups in the park. Nicky is thinking of becoming a preschool teacher. “Allison stopped by,” Nicky says suddenly. “She said you put her on retainer, just in case Kaitlyn’s parents follow through on their threats to file a lawsuit. Can we afford her?”

“I can. Tell me if you need more money,” Andrew says, crushing the cigarette butt beneath his heavy boot, eyes finding Neil again. 

“When will you be home?” Nicky asks after a long pause. “The girls don’t need money, they need their unc-”

Andrew hangs up his phone.

Neil runs for a little over an hour but he is barely winded when he saunters up to the car, one hand held out imperiously for a towel. Andrew chucks it at his face, but Neil’s hand whips out and plucks it from the air effortlessly. He laughs mockingly, face relaxing into something genuine and suddenly Andrew remembers how young Neil still is; legally, he can't even drink yet.

Andrew climbs into the car and turns it on before Neil even opens his water bottle. Andrew contemplates making Neil jog back to the mansion, but his memory is perfect and shows him the hatred and humiliation on Lola’s face as she left the house, so he unlocks the doors and lets Neil in. 

\--

Neil, it turns out, is useless in the kitchen. He knows how to make smoothies and open cans, but he just watches in bemusement as Andrew scornfully rejects a bowl of cereal and pulls out the eggs and bacon and fresh bread he had ordered to be delivered. “It’s just food,” Neil says, plucking an apple from a bowl. 

“Get out,” Andrew points at the door without looking away from the pan. 

Neil snorts, but he goes anyway, despite the fact that it’s his house and Andrew really shouldn’t be ordering him around in it. Neil returns around the same time Andrew realizes, to his intense irritation, that he has made two omelets and enough fresh coffee to fill two mugs. 

Andrew considers eating both portions or throwing one of them away out of spite, but Neil looks so baffled by the hot food all he does is hand him a plate. Andrew recognizes the signs of neglect and Neil has plenty of other sore spots for Andrew to prod when he gets bored.

“You’re pathetic,” Andrew informs him, stabbing a potato with slightly more vitriol than it probably deserves. 

Neil crunches his toast loudly. “Yes,” he says. “Do you know how to use the knives you keep up your sleeves?” 

Andrew blinks, thinks of Renee, thinks of Lola, remembers how steady he had been painting his own forearms red. “I know enough,” he says eventually. Andrew is more enthusiasm than skill, but an utter lack of self regard tends to tilt most fights in Andrew’s favor. 

Neil picks each piece of pepper and onion out of his omelet with a pained expression, but he otherwise clears his plate. “That was… really good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you.”

“ _It’s just food_ ,” Andrew parrots snidely, unused to being thanked for anything, let alone just doing his job. He expects Neil to have some retort to that, but the other man simply smiles and stands up, clearing the dishes. He dumps them in the sink and looks back at Andrew. 

“I have some work I have to do today. In my office. There’s a television in your room, the library is upstairs and the wifi is high speed.” Neil shrugs, fills another mug with plain coffee and walks to the door. 

“What kind of work?” Andrew asks when Neil is already out the door. Neil hears him anyway. 

“Translations. I’d ask you for help, but, well. So few Americans are multilingual,” Neil raises his voice as he gets further up the stairs, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. Andrew knocks his knuckles on the wooden table. He’s pretty sure he’s being goaded. Kevin knew that Andrew spoke German fluently, and it seems as though he hadn’t bothered keeping any of Andrew’s secrets from Neil. But Neil had sounded smug enough to make Andrew grit his teeth. 

_ Little shit. _ Andrew follows him into his office anyway, ignoring Neil’s raised eyebrows as he helps himself to the small stack of files in the box labelled ‘ _ Deutsch’.  _ To Andrew’s annoyance, there are similar boxes for Russian, Spanish, French, Italian, Polish and Japanese files. Neil can’t speak eight languages can he? No wonder so many crime families want a piece of him. He would be an invaluable tool of expansion, trade and influence for any one of them. 

“Don’t make a mistake,” Neil says as he settles in behind the heavy desk, “I have a reputation to uphold, you know.” Andrew waves him off and carries the folders and a laptop to the leather chair that sits in the corner of the dark office, next to the unlit fireplace. 

Andrew’s german is mostly conversational, so it takes him a while to get started, working through the papers at a much slower rate than Neil, but the language comes back to him quickly, helped in no small part by his eidetic memory. For a long while, the only sound in the room is shuffling papers, the click of keys and Andrew crunching obnoxiously on snacks when they work through lunch. When he finishes, Andrew leans back in the squeaky leather chair to think.

The Hatfords are not a large organization, but they are very very old, with roots and strands of influence stretching all across Europe into Asia. And now they are focused on America, using Neil like a crowbar to force their way in. “Oh Neil,” Andrew says, finally, “you really are in a mess, aren’t you?”

Neil grits his teeth stubbornly and stares at Andrew over the paperwork. “Buy me time and I can figure a way out of it.”

Andrew disagrees, but it doesn’t matter. He’s made his promise and he will stand by it. He tosses the translated pages on the desk and walks to the other side of the office to examine the books on the elaborate bookshelf. They look untouched, but they smell very very old. Andrew pulls out a first edition of A Brave New World and returns to his chair. 

\--

“Why did you let me read those documents?” Andrew asks over takeout later that night. Neil pauses with a spring roll half way to his mouth and hums thoughtfully. 

“You deserve to know what you’re up against,” he says finally, “and I’m already dead if you betray me, so there’s really no point in me keeping any secrets. Calling you, it was my last shot. I’m all out of cards to play. This  _ is _ plan B. I’ll keep my word, you can have all the money you need and I’ll get you in a room with Riko, but I don’t expect to be alive this time next year.”

“Shut up,” Andrew says, “It’s my job to worry about that.”

“Well,” Neil says, stuffing his face with noodles. “Worry quickly then, we have lunch with my uncle next week, and he’s a  _ bit  _ of a dick, so he might try to kill you and kidnap me.”

“Wow,” Andrew says in his blandest voice, “You  _ really _ won the genetic lottery didn’t you?”

Neil snorts and pushes his plate away. “You killed your mother, shut up.”

Instead of laughing, Andrew lights up a cigarette and blows the smoke into Neil’s face. Neil leans into the cloud with a sigh, eyes closed like no one ever took a burning object and pressed it to his face, like he trusted Andrew not to do the same. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so things start happening next chapter which will be *checks watch* third week in March???

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment if you liked it, or didn't, or have any questions!
> 
> update schedule for this fic and all my others is posted on my Tumblr monthly! (elesary)


End file.
